Winterhold Chronicles
by Gehenna79
Summary: Bertrand Lavoisier is an aspiring mage intent on studying at the College of Winterhold in Skyrim. However, little does he know that his arrival coincides with the beginning of a nefarious plot, and that he and his fellow apprentices are the only ones capable of stopping this threat to all of Mundus.
1. Bertrand I

**1st of HearthFire**

 **4E 201**

 **Bertrand Lavoisier***

* * *

The plains south of Winterhold angled in descent towards the Atmoran sea, marked in places by ice-encrusted boulder formations and deep crevices that sliced into the glacial shelf looming over the turbulent water. The wind howled as it strafed the landscape, causing crests of ice to fly towards the southern mountains, their jagged peaks rising in height towards the east. Atop one of these imposing bluffs was a great marble statue carved in the likeness of a woman draped in a long, flowing dress. Her alabaster arms were raised high, each hand clutching a different object. In her right, she held a crescent moon, and in her left, a pointed star.

Bertrand was educated enough to recognize the statue as a depiction of Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn. He knew that she was particularly sacred to the Dunmer, the ash-colored elves of Morrowind, the province to the east of Skyrim. Though he recognized the statue's majesty, Bertrand was not here to make pilgrimage. His destination lay through the incoming pass, in the once-great city of Winterhold. In that city was the College of Winterhold, an apolitical sanctum of study, dedicated to the purpose of educating prospective students in the arts of magic, as well as providing arcane services for the people of Skyrim.

Bertrand had come a long way, his journey beginning in the ancient kingdoms of Daggerfall, in the Imperial Province of High Rock. He had been on the road already for about six weeks, and he hoped his adventure would be coming to an end soon. Bertrand had known that Skyrim was a cold and unforgiving land, but he had no idea how cold it was until he had encountered it for himself. Despite wearing layers beneath his furs, he could hardly feel his hands and feet, and he shivered with every step.

To make matters worse, news had come upon his arrival in Skyrim that war had broken out between the Jarls. Not only that, but Dragons had been sighted across the province, an event that had not occurred in thousands of years. Bertrand had not yet seen a dragon, so he did not know if such talk was just hyperbolic rumor, but he had seen plenty of creatures dangerous enough while crossing through the province's vast wildernesses.

The path began to ascend towards the coming pass. The snow was still deep, and Bertrand's pace was retarded by the sheer volume of ice before him. He punched into the snowbank with every step, hoping that the weight of the satchel on his back wouldn't cause him to tip backwards into the snow from being off-balance.

Large, thick flakes fell around him in the thousands. A few hardy trees were interspersed across the glacial landscape, their long branches covered in evergreen needles, coated in a thick gown of snow.

 _Wish I knew an Alteration spell to keep me warm_ , Bertrand thought, _that should be the first thing they teach at the college, I hope, given this weather_.

Bertrand didn't know what kind of makeup the college had. He suspected that there would mostly be Bretons like himself, as Elves were somewhat unpopular in Skyrim, and Nords themselves had little interest in magic. The Beast-Races came from warm, sunny climates, so they would probably not wish to trek so far north.

Suddenly, Bertrand heard a chattering noise from up ahead. A glowing, white form began spiraling and undulating across the open terrain. Bertrand tried to get a good look, but didn't have to wait long, for the Ice Wraith closed the distance in a matter of seconds.

Bertrand cursed in Nedic and immediately called out, "Simmer!" whilst clenching his fist. A corona of purple energy emerged ahead of the young Breton, just as the Ice Wraith rose to attack. From within the flash a humanoid form emerged, a flame Atronach.

Its form was like a woman's, but of no woman that existed in Mundus. Her flesh was rippling flames, her scant garments made of cooled magma, and atop her brow were curled horns of fire that shone radiantly through the dark snowfall. She was a Daedra of the Deadlands, intelligent enough to obey commands after Bertrand had bound her soul to his.

The Atronach's hovering presence was enough to force the Ice Wraith to recoil, snarling as he did so. Simmer's heat was intense enough to force tears from Bertrand's eyes, and to cause the snow beneath her levitating feet to instantly melt into water.

Wordlessly, Simmer began her attack. From her right hand, now outstretched with her arm, she conjured a flaming sphere. Simmer flung it at the Ice Wraith, who dodged the brunt of the attack, but was still grazed across its serpentine back, causing a large chunk of its body to dissolve instantly within the sphere's trajectory.

The Ice Wraith fell back from the young Breton as Simmer launched another attack. Bertrand took the opportunity to cast a Stoneflesh spell around his person, enveloping his body in a film of shimmering light that would produce a magical barrier to reflect damage off his body, in case the Ice Wraith managed to break through Simmer's defense. Bertrand hoped it would work, for all his Magicka was now spent, and he suddenly felt very weary, as if he might collapse on the ground at any moment.

Simmer kept up her assault at the dodging Ice Wraith, who managed to twist around the Atronach's flank to reach her true target – Bertrand, who looked up to see the menacing, crystalline fangs right in front of him.

"Shor's mercy!" Bertrand shouted, before being flung onto his back, his barrier breaking with the sound of shattering glass.

Bertrand stared up at the sky. The wind had been knocked out of him. He was breathing heavily. He could hear the chattering of the Ice Wraith grow closer…

…when suddenly, another fiery orb appeared from the opposite direction and struck the Ice Wraith hard enough that it recoiled again.

Bertrand could hear someone coming down from the hills to the north. The young Breton forced himself up from the ground as quickly as possible, standing up to see a dark, hooded figure engaging the Ice Wraith, along with Simmer. Bertrand hoped that Simmer would understand the figure was trying to help her, and not attack, but the Atronach did not always know when to differentiate friend from foe.

Finally, the stranger disabled the Ice Wraith, causing the creature to implode and melt onto the ground in a large, wet puddle, leaving nothing else behind but a pair of icy fangs.

Bertrand smiled breathlessly and trudged forward towards the battlefield, where patches of snow had been melted by the twin assault. Simmer had stopped moving, waiting for instruction from her mortal master.

"Simmer, return," he commanded in a weak, gasping voice. He was beginning to get his strength back, and he could feel the Magicka stores in his body rejuvenating.

The stranger's back was facing him. They were knelt, plucking their prize from the puddle on the ice, and adding the fangs to their satchel. Perhaps they were an alchemist, Bertrand considered, and they would be making use of those fangs for an invisibility potion.

"Thanks for the assistance," Bertrand began, as the stranger turned to face him at last.

"Your Atronach is weak," the woman stated firmly. She was a Dark Elf, young and pretty. She had high, regal cheekbones and thin, ember-like eyes typical of her race. The hood obscured most of her head, but Bertrand could see that she had dark, raven hair. "And you possess very little Magicka. Curious, for a Breton."

Bertrand was taken aback. She was right of course, about his Magicka, but the Atronach comment rustled him. "Simmer has protected me well before."

"And you've _named_ your Atronach?" the Dunmer asked in disbelief, "What in Aetherius would you do that for? Daedra are not pets!"

"No, of course not," Bertrand replied stiffly, "Still, it makes it easier to command her that way."

"Hmph," the dark elf scoffed, "As you say. Why are you out here, Breton?"

"I could ask the same of you," Bertrand retorted, "Seems like an awful day for a hike."

"I was out on _college_ business," the Dunmer said haughtily, "you know, the College of Winterhold? That must be why you're here, right? To try and get into the college? Well I'm afraid they don't just let anybody in."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Bertrand asked pointedly.

"It means exactly what your offended tone implies. I doubt they will let you in. Your companion is a Daedra without much bite, and you don't seem to have much Magicka to perform more than two apprentice-level spells at a time, I'd say they expect a bit more than that."

Finally, Bertrand began to lose his temper, "What's your name, elf?"

The woman smirked, "You may call me Brelyna, if you please."

"Well, _Brelyna_ , I don't know who you think you are, but unless you're in charge of college admission, you should hold your tongue. Just wait and see before you pass judgment on me."

Brelyna shrugged, "I didn't mean to make you upset. Just trying not to get your hopes up. I can take you to Winterhold, if you so desire."

"You think more of those Ice Wraiths are out there?" Bertrand asked.

"Perhaps," Brelyna shrugged again, "But there seems no good reason for you to travel alone, not if we are going the same way."

As much as Bertrand disliked this imperious Dunmer, he saw the logic in her statement. With an adjustment of his satchel, he nodded and replied, "Alright then, lead the way."

* * *

For the next few hours, the pair moved through the pass rather silently. The cold, grey walls of the mountains around them were covered in sheaves of icicles, and the wind continued its howling assault.

Brelyna's words had seeded doubts of purpose in Bertrand's mind, but he managed to shake them off, focusing instead on the pain in his back, the aches in his legs and the numbness beneath his gloves. He prayed to the Nine that his hands were not taken by frostbite, and would not require amputation, for the cold was so deep he could feel it taking root beneath his now waxy skin.

Brelyna didn't seem to notice the cold. Maybe she had grown accustomed to it, or maybe she had found some way to keep herself warm. Regardless, she led the way, often getting ahead of Bertrand and having to consciously slow herself down to accommodate his turgid gait.

"How much further?" Bertrand asked after they had continued for nearly two and a half hours through the mountains.

"Not much longer. Winterhold is beyond that rise," she gestured towards a tall hill in the distance, maybe a quarter of an Imperial mile.

Bertrand sniffed, "Very well. I take it there's shelter in town?"

Brelyna nodded and replied, "Yes. There's one tavern left. But as you will see, what is left of Winterhold is mostly ruins…"

When they came to the top of the rise, Bertrand could see the dark shapes of buildings down below. With renewed vigor, he clambered down the hillside, but it did not take long for him to be in agreement with Brelyna.

Winterhold consisted of a single road, winding its way through town towards the college on its western edge. Even through the snow, Bertrand could make out the college. It was a lonely structure, a stone fortification perched on top of a jagged cliff separated fully from the mainland. The rest of Winterhold was just as high, overlooking sharp, crooked rocks and sheets of glacial ice that rested on the coast's surface.

Many of the buildings left were as Brelyna said – abandoned ruins, piles of stone and charred lumber. There were four or five buildings where smoke poured from the stone-built chimneys, but beyond that, nothing. There were no citizens outside, no guards. The whole place was quiet as the grave, beyond the incessant moaning of the wind, and the creaking of a loose sign that hung from the side of a two-story lodge.

Bertrand was in awe. He had read of the Collapse but didn't realize that Winterhold's days of glory were far behind. It was a corpse, far-removed from the days of being one of the greatest seats of power in all of Skyrim.

"It's a dump," was all Bertrand said. Brelyna said nothing and began scrabbling down the hillside to enter the town proper.

Bertrand followed, passing by a lean-to in which some goats rested, hiding from the snow-storm's wrath. There were chicken coops as well behind what looked to be the Jarl's Longhouse, a run-down building with a thatch roof buckling beneath the weight of accumulated snow. The stink of manure and urine flowed from that direction, causing Bertrand to wrinkle his nose before looking away.

"Over there," Brelyna called to him, pointing towards the town's other large building, "The tavern. There you will find food, shelter, and a warm fire. I must return to the college now. I never got your name, Breton?"

"Bertrand. Bertrand Lavoisier."

"Good luck, Bertrand," Brelyna said to him as she departed into the blizzard, her dark form consumed by the wash of wind and ice, "Only the Reclamations know if we will meet again!"

Bertrand stared for a second in confusion, then simply shook his head. _First she berates me_ , _then she wishes me luck_. _Maybe she sincerely didn't realize her rudeness_ , _maybe she just doesn't care_. Bertrand shrugged and turned towards the inn.

* * *

 *** = Pronounced Ber-trand Luh-vwah-see-ay**


	2. Bertrand II

**1** **st** **of Hearthfire**

 **4E 201**

 **Bertrand Lavoisier**

* * *

Bertrand gasped for breath as he entered the tavern, his face and body walking straight into a wall of heat from within the confines of the lodge. The building consisted of one long hall, with small rooms branching off the sides. In the center of the room was a crackling fire pit, and at the back of the room was an oak bar, serviced by a burly Nord dressed a simple tunic and a grimy apron.

The young Breton stumbled forward, feeling the eyes of the people on him as he settled down onto a bench in the room's dark northeast corner. For a few seconds, he breathed heavily, easing the soreness of his back and legs and feeling the snow gripping the rim of his hood start to run down the side of his flush face.

A middle-aged woman came up to him and said, "Hello there, traveler. Would you like me to take your cloak, shake it out and hang it up on the rack?"

Bertrand nodded, and slowly stripped his now soaked furs off his body. All over, he was beginning to feel his skin ripening in the glow of the hearth. The woman smiled and took his coat, and the man from the counter approached him.

"Looks like you got caught in that blizzard," the man said, "My name's Dagur. I'm the barkeep here. If need anything to eat or drink, give me a holler."

"Do you have a bed?" Bertrand asked desperately, "I need to lie down. I haven't had proper rest in nearly three days."

"Of course," Dagur nodded, "I have one room for you. I'll give it to you half price, because nobody else is around to use it, and the fact that you look damned close to dead. Five septims."

Bertrand nodded and reached into his satchel. He pulled out his coin-purse, which had barely anything left. The ship from Daggerfall to Dawnstar had been expensive, as had been the provisions necessary upon reaching Skyrim. It had taken nearly three weeks to walk from Dawnstar to Winterhold, and there had been few settlements between the two towns. Bertrand had purchased dried food, fruit, meat, and bread, and had slaked his thirst with melted snow-water in his canteen. Now, he barely had anything left.

Bertrand poured out four golden septims and pressed them into the palm of the Innkeeper. The man smiled and nodded, "Your room's the one on the right over here. Its already made up for you, so you can use it whenever you like."

"I need something hot too. You have tea?"

"I could boil some water for you if you like, though I recommend trying some spiced wine. It's an import from Solitude, good stuff that will drive the chill straight from your bones."

"I'll keep to tea," Bertrand insisted, and the man nodded and left, another septim jingling in his pocket.

* * *

After receiving his tea, Bertrand lounged in the main hall for about half an hour before picking himself up and dragging himself to his room. It was a small, simply furnished room with a bed, a table, one chair and a dresser for keeping clothes. The place seemed clean enough, so Bertrand set down his satchel on the floor, shut the door, and undressed, tossing his damp clothes onto the floor where they lay shriveled and soggy.

Bertrand sat on the bed. It was a straw-filled mattress, not as comfortable as his old wool-filled one in Daggerfall, but better than sleeping on the ground, as he had done for the last three weeks. Bertrand sighed as he pulled the fur covers over his body, and it did not take very long for him to finally fall asleep.

After some hours had passed, Bertrand heard a loud crash from the other room that startled him awake. He heard Aldmeris curses, and a great scuffle. Still dazed from fatigue, the instincts he had attained from travelling through the wilderness alone kicked in and he bolted upright. He quickly slipped into a tunic and grabbed the iron dagger from his satchel, knowing that Simmer would be of little use in such a tightly confined space, surrounded by flammable material.

Bertrand opened the door. The lodge was dark, but the Breton saw Dagur running across the hall. The Nord burst through the entryway of the room adjacent to Bertrand's and beginning cursing loudly.

"Nelacar, what in Ysgramor's name are you doing? You're going to wake…oh gods, what is that thing!"

Bertrand ran over to Dagur's side, but the Nord ran away and knocked Bertrand onto the ground. A blurry form moved across Bertrand's sight in a flash, jumping behind the Breton and clambering up onto the top of the lodge's now-dead fireplace.

Bertrand squinted in the darkness, but he managed to make out the creature's twin red eyes before it jumped onto the rafters. It was about three feet tall, covered in scale, and had pointed ears and a whip-like tail. It was a Scamp! A stunted scamp to be sure, and not yet fully grown, but it was one of the more dangerous Daedra Bertrand had read about, though had not yet seen.

The Scamp chattered back at them, laughing as he ran and jumped across the room, causing pots filled with oats and grain to crash from the attic down onto the floor. A regal, lilted voice cried out from behind Bertrand, "Don't let it escape!"

Another figure had joined the fray, exiting through the entryway and standing before Bertrand and Dagur. It was an Altmer, a high elf, dressed in full mage-attire, bronze-skinned hands outstretched as he prepared to cast a spell.

"Out of the way, Breton!" the Altmer commanded, "I'm going to grab it with a spell!"

Bertrand rolled over and stumbled to the side of the room once more. Betrand could see a woman and a young girl cowering on the other side of the lodge.

The high elf cast a spell of telekinesis at the Scamp, and it finally ceased to move. Miming the action of pulling in a rope, the Altmer dragged the paralyzed Daedra back into the room. He levitated it over an open chest, then dropped the creature inside. It immediately tried to hop out again, but Bertrand watched as the high elf used his bare hands to suppress it back down into the box. "Help!" he said, "Shut the chest! Hurry!"

Bertrand and Dagur ran over to assist him, and together, the three men shut the chest on the clawing Daedra, holding it down as the Altmer locked it shut. They stepped back as the chest began to shake for a few moments, until the elf cast another spell upon the chest and it shook no more.

The Altmer smiled. He had a warm, happy face, and since his hood was down, Bertrand could see that like most of his kind, he had bright, light blonde hair, that flowed in a long mane down the side of his head. "That chest is enchanted. That creature will be back in Oblivion, now, you have my word."

"What the hell are you doing?" Dagur roared, shaking his fist in anger. "I have customers here! You can't bring Daedra into an Inn!"

"Bringing a Scamp into Mundus was not the intent of my experiment. The mistake has already been corrected in my mind for future attempts!"

" _Future_ attempts?" Dagur asked, stunned, "You're going to do this again?"

"Mmm…perhaps not," the elf said, "I may need to do this outside…"

"Your damn right you do! You're going to drive away what few customers I have left with your insane experiments!"

"I don't know about that," replied the elf with a smirk, "this young man seems to have risen to the challenge spectacularly. I can feel the magicka radiating off him. You're here for the college, aren't you boy?"

Bertrand simply nodded. He didn't know what to think of this strange encounter.

"Of course, why else would you be here? How about I pay off your customer for the trouble," the elf said, "Would that ease your conscience, Dagur?"

The big Nord sighed, and then waved his hands above his head exasperatedly, "Whatever, Nelacar. Just keep it quiet."

* * *

The next morning, Bertrand woke up late. He dressed himself fully and went back into the lodge, where a sulking Dagur was working on starting the fire. The room was fairly cold, and Bertrand could see his breath as vapor floating through the air.

The young Breton walked into the next room over. Nelacar was there, reading a book and peering over a large collection of soul gems. He didn't notice Bertrand at first, being so engrossed in his work, but suddenly looked up and said, "I didn't catch your name, last night. Mine is Nelacar, of Alinor. And you?"

"Bertrand Lavoisier, of Daggerfall."

"You've come a long way then, to study, haven't you? On your own no less, in a dangerous land."

Bertrand shrugged, "I can take care of myself. There was nothing for me back home. Your septims help, in any case."

Nelacar smiled, "Indeed. I was wondering if you would be interested in a little work."

"What kind of work?" Bertrand asked, crossing his arms.

From within the same chest used to trap the Scamp, Nelacar pulled out a faded book with yellow, brittle pages. He put it on the counter that bisected his room, next to the soul gems.

"I have a colleague residing within the college that requested me to procure a rare volume in Alinor. This volume. Suffice to say, I am not allowed on the college grounds anymore and any attempt to do so would be…hazardous to my health."

"You've been banned from the college?" Bertrand asked, "What for?"

"For experiments that disrupted the daily life at the college, like the one you saw last night. At a point, even my wealth was not enough to placate the wrath of the Arch-Mage," Nelacar shrugged, "It matters little. Through contacts such as yourself, and when they have the desire to come speak to me personally, I can still gain access to the college resources, though indirectly. Thus why I live here, paying Dagur to endure my presence. I had planned to ask the gatekeeper to do the smuggling for me but she…well, it's of no consequence to you, I'm sure."

Something about Nelacar's agenda seemed shady to Bertrand, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He asked, "What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?" Nelacar inquired, "More gold? A love potion? A spell that will make you taller than a house?"

Bertrand thought on it for a second. He remembered Brelyna's words, about the college being difficult to get into. He also thought on his own apparent lack of Magicka.

"I was born with an absence of Magicka uncommon to most Bretons," explained Bertrand, "I need something to give me more. Do you have something like that?"

Nelacar placed his hand beneath his pointed chin and began to think. Then, in what appeared to be an epiphany, he got down on his knees and pulled a case out from underneath his bed.

"This is where I keep my most valuable possessions. I trust that Nord barkeeper as far as I could throw him…without telekinesis, anyway."

With a pair of clicks he opened the case, and Bertrand could see inside a whole assortment of rings, amulets, and gloves. Some of them were especially ornate, fashioned from glimmering silver and precious jewels. Others look ancient, for they were corroded pieces of iron that looked sharp to the touch. But from the pile, Nelacar pulled out a plain-looking silver ring. Nelacar's own Magicka interacted with the ring and a blue glow covered its lustrous surface. "Yes," Nelacar said, "This will do nicely. I bought it from a pawnbroker in Mournhold who had no idea what he had, he took ten septims for it. It's worth far more than that, but I have more than enough Magicka for own work. You can have it, in exchange for the service."

"Alright then," Bertrand agreed, "Who am I making the delivery to?"

"An Altmer, like myself. You'll know him when you see him. He's a Thalmor agent. Dresses like one. I trust you have some knowledge of them?"

"My father did business with them," Bertrand replied, "I know them enough to recognize them."

"Good, its settled then. I suppose I should ask though, how exactly do you plan on impressing the gatekeeper?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a woman who stands guard outside the entryway to the college. It's her job to protect the college from outsiders, as well as ensure that only those who are worthy might enter. She could turn me into a puddle on the spot. So, unless you impress her, you can forget about getting in there."

"Well," Bertrand explained, "I am a Summoner. I could Summon my familiar."

Nelacar scoffed, "Pardon me, but that's child's play to anyone at the college. What else do you have?"

"I know some destruction spells…some alteration and restoration spells, and one illusion spell…Fury!"

"I see…" Nelacar seemed uninspired. "I'll have to teach you a new spell. Something that the gatekeeper won't be able to resist. The College exists primarily to study magic, but there is a profit motive, so anybody that can make the College money will get in. Trust me, that's why some of them still do business with me, because they are constantly running out of septims and know I'll pay well for what I need."

Bertrand felt a burst of excitement. "Alright then, teach me this spell! I'll put that ring on and we'll get to work!"

Nelacar nodded and handed Bertrand his ring, "This is a spell that very few people know of. Listen closely, and we'll begin…"


	3. Bertrand III

**2** **nd** **of Hearthfire**

 **4E 201**

 **Bertrand Lavoisier**

* * *

After Nelacar's lesson, Bertrand returned to his room and packed up his belongings. He grabbed his coat from the rack, thanked the hosts, and slipped back on the ring Nelacar had gave him. He felt a sudden rush of adrenaline as a warm, blue light dispersed across his body. Goosebumps popped all over his skin before the rush faded away, leaving him feeling haler than he had previously. Bertrand loved his new accoutrement and felt as if he could take on the world.

Bertrand stepped outside. The snow-storm had stopped, but the sky was still overcast and the air still cold enough to cause Bertrand to cough and the flesh of his cheeks to sting. The town still looked desolate and miserable, but a few people were out and about. What remained of Winterhold was pressed between the edge of the cliffs and a series of hills that rose up into the adjacent mountains. The statue of Azura Bertrand had seen whilst traveling from the south was still visible in the eastern distance, looming over like a watchful guardian.

The young Breton could feel the eyes of the town-folk on him. The cold, grimy people, covered in dirt and smelling of sea-salt, were thin and malnourished. Breton wondered what they had to eat besides livestock and fish from the nearby ocean. Where did they draw water, did they even bathe? In Daggerfall, the quality of living was high enough that even the peasants were well-fed, healthy, and clean. Here…Bertrand wondered why there was anybody left, even among the very few who remained to stare at him, eyes piercing like daggers.

Bertrand paid them no mind as soon as he turned his attention to the College. It looked even grander in the day time, though seemingly mysterious. A great stone bridge from the cliff over to the raised island connected the College to the mainland. It was well-covered, and Bertrand could see wells of light ascending into the air from three connective points across the bridge. Bertrand wondered what they were for. Maybe they were defense against possible assailants? Or maybe they drew Magicka from nature itself to keep the bridge afloat, being no pillars to support its weight? Only time would tell.

As Nelacar had said, the bridge to the College had a gatekeeper, an Altmer just as Nelacar. Already Bertrand was surprised by how many Elves he had encountered since reaching Winterhold. The woman guarding the gate was under-dressed for the climate, simply wearing a set of dark, blue robes and leather gloves. She wore her golden hair in thin pig-tails and had a narrow, symmetrical face with thin, pursed lips. The gatekeeper didn't seem too intimidating, but Bertrand knew that looks could be deceiving and reminded himself of this as he approached the high elf.

"Cross the bridge at your peril!" the gatekeeper announced, causing Bertrand to come to a stop.

"I have come to study at the college," Bertrand began, holding a safe distance from the gatekeeper.

"Who are you, and from where you hail?" the gatekeeper questioned.

"My name is Bertrand Lavoisier," he replied, "I have traveled here from Daggerfall."

"Daggerfall, huh?" the gatekeeper asked curiously, "High Rock is well-known for the many reputable schools of magic it possesses, why have you come here, instead of studying there?"

"Long story," Bertrand answered, "But essentially, I had to get away from my family. They would have found out where I was pretty easily if I stayed in High Rock."

"Hmm…" the gatekeeper looked Bertrand up and down, measuring his stature and judging him,then said, "Very well. As you may already know, the College requires prospective students to demonstrate their abilities before being allowed to enter the College structure. There are many dangerous secrets within the College's walls, and the College has many enemies.

"Tell me!" the gatekeeper exclaimed, "For what purpose have you come to the college?"

"I wish to develop my talents. I have received some tutelage under a court wizard, but due to extenuating circumstances my tutelage came to an end. I have desired becoming a master sorcerer and unlocking the mysteries of Aetherius since I was a boy. And if, along the way, I gain some power and prestige, then that would not be unwelcome."

"Hmmm…" the gatekeeper crossed her arms and was silent a moment. Bertrand hoped he didn't sound too self-serving, but she had to know that most Mages were in it for themselves, either to gain wealth, power, women, or all of the above. Studying purely for knowledge's sake was rare, for the powers of Magic were the powers to shape the world to one's design, and the temptation to use that power would be too great.

"Alright then," she finally said, "Show us how the College might profit from your inclusion. What knowledge do you possess, what skills do you have, that you could share to benefit your fellow Mage?"

"I will show you," Bertrand took a deep breath and pulled off his satchel. He reached into the pack and pulled out a piece of iron ore that Nelacar had given him.

Concentrating on the chain words Nelacar had caught him, Bertrand cast an Alteration spell. It emerged from his right hand as an orb of green light, before latching onto the iron ore and wrapping around its surface. The cracks shone bright green for a few moments, before the ore began to change radically different.

The iron began to change, pieces of the metal bubbling like water with smoke running of the ore's edge. The rough patches of the ore began to smooth out as they changed color from charcoal to silver.

"Not done yet," Bertrand said, before casting the second part of the spell, allowing his left hand to charge with the same green light that spiraled around the newly-christened silver ore. Gold flecks began to grow from the silver, until the silver ore was transformed once more into a sphere of pure gold. A few pounds had been shed in the process, leaving a heavy orb capable of fitting in the palm of Bertrand's hand.

"There," Bertrand announced, approaching the gatekeeper and handing her the gold, "I have transformed this iron into silver, and that silver into gold. It was not easy," a bead of sweat ran down Bertrand's forehead, "but I have managed it."

The gatekeeper examined the sphere closely. She nodded in approval and replied, "Would be an amazing feat, provided this is real."

Outwardly, Bertrand showed no lack of confidence. But inside he felt a cold pang of fear trickle up his spine. What if Nelacar had deceived him? But that would make no sense, as Nelacar had given Bertrand the book to deliver. Maybe Nelacar wasn't aware that what he did was fake, but Bertrand highly doubted that. The spellwork was too complex.

Bertrand shrugged, "I'd be willing to have it examined. By whoever you think is qualified for that sort of work. But even if it was fake, you must admit the process was…"

"Inspired, yes," the gatekeeper agreed. "Is Alteration your field of expertise?"

"Not exactly," Bertrand admitted, "I am more of a Summoner. I have a Atronach familiar."

"That is not unusual for a Mage, especially not in Skyrim, which happens to be in a period of turmoil today."

Bertrand nodded, "Indeed. I also have some knowledge of the Illusion and Restoration schools, so besides Mysticism, and Enchanting, well, I have knowledge in most schools of magic. And am ready to learn more."

"Alright then," the gatekeeper said, "While I will have your sphere examined by our Alteration master, I will allow you to proceed. My name is Faralda. I will guide you across the bridge's defenses to the College, and after passing through the gate you will be recognized hereafter by them as allowed to pass through. Are you ready?"

Bertrand pulled his satchel up and slung the strap around his shoulder. This was the moment he had been waiting years for. He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he nodded eagerly and replied, "I'm ready, gods, I think I'm ready."

"Good," the gatekeeper replied, turning her back and leading the way across the bridge, "Welcome to the College, apprentice."


End file.
